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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291688">Relentless</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/soon_er/pseuds/soon_er'>soon_er</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Shingujji Korekiyo Centric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:07:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/soon_er/pseuds/soon_er</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your story’s kinda like Romeo and Juliet, huh? Well, with an incestuous twist I guess, but that just makes it more fun, right?” Ouma’s voice drilled through his skull, even as he kneeled, fingertips contacting stiff flesh, Ouma’s remarks kept droning. </p><p>“Well, even if you ignore me, you have no choice but to be my friend!” </p><p>Shinguji held the corpse in his arms, swinging it over his shoulder. The blood seeped down his back, staining his clothing an ominous shade of red. </p><p>“Your soul is mine, after all.”</p><p>The words were familiar, for Ouma seemed to enjoy nothing beyond making his life hell. Beyond repeating the fact that his existence was no longer his own, and to achieve his goal, he would have no option but to face the inevitable. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oma Kokichi &amp; Shinguji Korekiyo, Shinguji Korekiyo &amp; Yonaga Angie, Shinguji Korekiyo/Shinguji Korekiyo's Sister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Relentless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The air was frigid, suffocating Shinguji with its inertial grip. He didn’t mind the silence, not anymore. It served as a sign of his victory, proof he had eased Sister’s loneliness ever so slightly further. A woman lay still before him, a pool of crimson surrounding her form. She had followed him, falling for the charm of his intellect. Shinguji felt sick even considering the thought of romance with anyone besides his beloved.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, good job, Shinguji-chan!” The familiar voice made him grimace, and Shinguji sensed a rising dread as he slipped the dagger back into his pocket, "Hey, how many do you have left now? Ninety-seven? Seventy-six? Sixty--”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eighty-five,” Shinguji cut in, hiding his annoyance behind impenetrable composure,” Ouma, don’t you have other business to attend?”  He turned around, movements smooth.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, ‘course I do,” His tone was bright, mockingly so,” but what’s more important than spending time with my star pupil?” Facing Kokichi Ouma, the demon that haunted him every moment, Shinguji knew what reaction he was fishing for. He spun his lies, valuing his own enjoyment to the detriment of others. Shinguji refused to snap and fall victim to the deceiver’s cruel game.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you understand. We’re not friends, far from it, actually.” He said, wanting to break any illusions Ouma had formed regarding their partnership—of their deal itself. None of it was for his benefit. Not in the slightest.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, but I’m so helpful!” The other appeared upset before his features contorted once again,” And you’re definitely not boring, like most of the shitbags I deal with. ‘I want to be rich and famous’ ‘I want to cure my kid’s cancer’,  boohoo, just hang yourself already.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji ignored these outlandish statements. What even could he say? ‘Your morals are nonexistent’? That much was obvious. He wouldn’t falter, though, not now, as a bleeding corpse rested at his feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Killing seemed to get easier every time. Shinguji recalled the first time he had committed murder, and how his stomach had churned at the sight of his actions. Not anymore. Hesitation and disgust would only impede his purpose.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your story’s kinda like Romeo and Juliet, huh? Well, with an incestuous twist I guess, but that just makes it more fun, right?” Ouma’s voice drilled through his skull, even as he kneeled, fingertips contacting stiff flesh, Ouma’s remarks kept droning. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, even if you ignore me, you have no choice but to be my friend!” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji held the corpse in his arms, swinging it over his shoulder. The blood seeped down his back, staining his clothing an ominous shade of red. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your soul <em>is </em>mine, after all.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The words were familiar, for Ouma seemed to enjoy nothing beyond making his life hell. Beyond repeating the fact that his existence was no longer his own, and to achieve his goal, he would have no option but to face the inevitable. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The walls were entirely white, and the sound of his footsteps against the tile echoed. Sunlight shined through the rather large windows, brightening the nearly deserted hallway. The hospital always made Shinguji somewhat tense, and it had ever since he was a child. It was a stark reminder of Sister’s illness, and her inescapable end. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>No, that wasn’t true. She would be fine, she always was. They would face this world together, for the two of them were inseparable. Sister was his shining light amongst the millions of people who would never understand emotions like his own.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The plastic tray felt solid in his hands, the food placed upon it still warm. It was a sandwich of some kind, made at the nearby cafeteria. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji hesitated before entering the room. Yes, Sister would be there, but every day she appeared to grow more feeble. He hated watching her deteriorate, more than anything else, but he managed to push open the door.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath audibly hitched, and he lingered in the doorway. Sunken eyes met his own, her unusually pale features smiling weakly. The veins were visible on her hand as it waved shakily in his direction, acknowledging his entrance. The familiar sentiment eased his nerves, affection swelling in his chest.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Korekiyo.” She greeted, her hand resting upon her lap once again. He shut the door behind him, stepping forward so that he was beside her. The curtains were drawn, dimming the sunlight that shown through.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you feeling?” Concern slipped into his voice, betraying the confident demeanor Shinguji was attempting to amplify. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A breathy chuckle escaped her lips,” Not well enough to eat, if that’s what you mean.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” He inhaled shallowly, setting the tray on her bedside table,” Is there anything you want, I-I can surely get it for you.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dear, you’re not a servant.” She paused with a soft hum, scooting over and patting the space on the mattress beside her,” Sit.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span> Shinguji obeyed, enchanted by her elegant tone. Everything about Sister was magnificent, from her serenity to the way she gently spoke.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand rested against his cheek now, cold and cracked. She slid down the mask that he wore, a smile painting her lips at the reveal of his true features. This moment was sacred in his eyes, as was all their time together. Shinguji allowed himself to relax, leaning into the contact ever so slightly. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would I do without you?” Sister said as he leaned forward, only inches remaining between them. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would struggle,” Shinguji’s hand laid atop her own, pressing it down against his cheek,” but you would surely prosper, my love.” The words came out easily, for he meant them. He believed in her, and her ability to overcome any obstacle to reach him once again.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>After a brief pause, their lips met. A magnetic force beyond Shinguji’s control pulling them ever so closer. It was right, everything he felt. The fondness that gripped his mind, driving his lips to move against Sister’s.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They pulled apart, maintaining eye contact. Her gaze was soft, almost sympathetic, for the truth was obvious. The inescapability clear in her mind.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll stay the night, right?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he would.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His life was over. At least it felt like it was as he stared down at those familiar features, which were now distorted by death. Soft instrumental music played, creating an atmosphere of sadness, of a lonely farewell. How foolish, for this was nothing of the sort. Shinguji knew this was nothing but a mere obstacle, higher powers testing their everlasting love.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So why did he feel this way? The depravity of the moment was asphyxiating him, leaving his breath labored. There was an unshakable ringing in his mind, threatening to drive him mad. Shinguji was alone, utterly deserted within this incomprehensible reality. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sister had died, alone within that monotonous room, leaving his existence bleak and his heart trodden. She had always been lonely, huh? In and out of the hospital, never allowed a single friend beside himself. That thought was desolate, adding to the tremendous despair that he already felt.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as Church bells rang distantly, Shinguji’s focus never wavered. Nothing mattered beside his beloved. Not at all. He couldn’t leave, couldn’t let it end. This was the last time, until their eventual reunion, that he would lay eyes upon Sister, and he wasn’t ready for her corpse to be buried in the dirt, among the millions of deceased others.   </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A throaty sob escaped his throat as he lowered his body, now clearly able to see the stillness of her expression. The skin that would soon rot, and the bones that would soon be all that was left of her. Cold, unresponsive lips met his own, and Shinguji allowed his eyes to close.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was setting, casting a faint orange glow over the churchyard. Cars passed by as he walked along the street, people chatting casually passing him with nothing more than a glance. It was unfair how such heedless individuals received such easy circumstances, lives without pain or misfortune. His eyes were glued straight ahead, refusing to let outside forces distract him. Everyone and everything was utterly useless in the grand scheme of life.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a long walk, but Shinguji didn’t mind. Not really. Even as the sun disappeared, and the streetlights began to ominously glow, he paid no mind. How long had it been? It felt like an eternity had passed, every moment nothing but incessant torture. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was natural to observe, to attempt to understand the lives of those around. Shinguji did so without even trying, comparing the bright lights shining from family’s houses to the bleak hospital. Noticing how the couple who walked by, holding one another, juxtaposed greatly with the emptiness that haunted his chest.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji’s head whipped around, violet irises meeting his own. The male who addressed him appeared to be either a teenager or a young adult, he couldn’t tell. He spoke in a sing-song voice, the scarf that hung from his neck a checkered pattern. He hopped off the dumpster he had been sitting upon, emerging from the alleyway to face Shinguji.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His exasperation escaped his tone, for he was far too exhausted to conceal it. The distant streetlight illuminated the shorter male’s sly simper, his skin noticeably pale.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna kill yourself?” Shinguji wasn’t fazed, taken aback to find himself considering the question. What else was there to do than die and reunite with his true love? How else would he cope with the immense loss that overwhelmed him with grief?</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Perhaps,” Shinguji said, unable to lie in the face of such bluntness,” but it is none of your concern.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure it is. ‘Cause I care soooo much!” His words were mocking, somewhat sarcastic, even. His giggle was unique, reminding Shinguji of a horse. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take care!” The male pushed past him, disappearing around the corner before he could respond. Strange, but useless. Shinguji was left alone, standing amongst the eerie silence.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re home without your girlfriend.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice was feminine, sounding from over Shinguji’s shoulder. His hand rested on the knob of his door, and he considered ignoring her and walking inside. Even so, he faced the newcomer, recognizing her platinum hair immediately. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Yonaga. They were neighbors, but had never spoken before. In the brief time he had been at the apartment, in place of the hospital, he acted as a hermit, approaching as few people as possible. He had observed Yonaga somewhat, only enough to notice her cheery disposition.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s dead.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the door, but before he could take a step inside, a warm hand wrapped around his own.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s sad. You must be so lonely, then, huh?” Her sympathetic tone was gentle,” Would you like me to pray for her peaceful passing?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitated, relieved that his frown was hidden under the mask he wore. Pray? Like that would solve anything, or as if he wanted to speak with anyone besides Sister. It wasn’t like Yonaga mattered in the slightest.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he met her gaze, deeming her intentions genuine.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be lovely.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The days continued on, and Shinguji lived as normal of a life as possible. Nothing could erase his urge to die, however, to allow his soul to pass, and meet his beloved once again. It was torturous, as if every passing moment was a nightmare he couldn’t escape. Not yet, at least.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He hid these emotions behind a wall of serenity, Sister’s words echoing in his mind. he knew she was alone, waiting for him. He even considered ending it now, but every time he raised the blade to his wrist, his hands shook violently. Cowardly, really, despairingly so. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock sounded, averting Shinguji’s focus from his thoughts. He stood up from the sofa, and it took him mere seconds to reach the door and open it. Yonaga stood before him, her vibrant expression familiar. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yoo-hoo, can I come in?” Yonaga had visited him frequently since Sister’s passing. In her arms, now,  was a canvas, and he peered at it in confusion. Her normal gifts of pity-art (as he liked to consider them) were typically completed, but this canvas was plain, starkly so. She also had a relatively small-sized bag, about the size of his own palm. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped backward, allowing Yonaga to enter his apartment. It was messy, but who could blame him? The demanding,  ever-enthralling misery deemed cleanliness useless. And from the small smile that painted Yonaga’s features, Shinguji assumed she paid no mind.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Yonaga,” he said, taking a step forward. It was annoying, really, for his moping had been interrupted, and he now had to feign composure.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call me Angie. We’re friends, right?” Her movements were casual as she plopped down on the sofa, setting the art supplies on her lap.  </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s correct,” Shinguji closed the door, his gaze averted to Angie,” What are you doing? It’s quite unusual for you to—”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m painting you, Ko-re-ki-yo~”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath caught in his throat. Shinguji was not at all used to being addressed by his first name, and memories of Sister, and her voice, and her touch came flooding back. She was the only one to ever be close enough to call him that, and he felt oddly violated. That was until he met Angie’s soft gaze.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re in pain, aren’t you? Allow Atua to help you through me.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood. The color, the smell— it all made Shinguji sick. The deep gash that marked her head, and stained her platinum hair a deep crimson, had been an accident. It had. He hadn’t wanted to kill her.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>No, that wasn’t true. Shinguji couldn’t afford to delude himself with false fantasies, not when Angie’s sacrifice served a purpose. An important purpose, one that would benefit his beloved. He couldn’t cope in life without serving her, and even murder could be justified within context. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Justified. Was it even questionable? Sister was lonely, and he was helping. They would never understand, no one would. The blood— it was fine, it really was. Better than fine, actually, it was absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>divine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The half-completed portrait, which had been started only hours earlier, had fallen to the ground. Her blood stained the sofa, the dark fabric forever discolored. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been unfair,  how peaceful he felt in Angie’s presence. He didn’t deserve it in the slightest. Sister did. She deserved every single joy in life that illness had prematurely stolen. His actions were warranted by love, in its truest form. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, big suitcase you got there, mask man!”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji could feel beads of sweat forming on his neck and the incessant clenching of his jaw. The streets were dark, to an incredible degree, so what were the chances of running into anyone? Especially someone as obnoxious as the dumpster-boy he had met only days earlier. Perhaps it was the paranoia accompanied by murder, but he couldn’t help but worry that the other knew more than he possibly could.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really do have a thing for ignoring people, huh? It’s okay, I think killers are pretty interesting to watch.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His steps came to a halt, eyes landing on the male in front of him. Dread. Shinguji could feel it strongly, fear gripping his mind. The other simply laughed, loud and teasing. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a lie, obviously.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“My actions are none of your concern,” Shinguji’s words were sharp, for his nerves were understandably high. He was worried, for no one would understand his true righteousness.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? I’m preeetty sure the police will tie you to the crime.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, so he did know.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji figured he could just kill again, eradicate this unexpected obstacle. He didn’t want to, not at all. Bile filled his throat at the idea of more blood staining his hands, of staring at another pair of lifeless irises. But it was necessary.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span> For Sister.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“well, unless you accept my help, that is.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He held the business card in his hand. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kokichi Ouma.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The other had handed him the paper, running off before Shinguji could manage a single question.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Call my name three times and I’ll appear.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounded childish, like some game grade-schoolers would play. Ouma was likely psychotic, deluding himself with false reverie. Ouma seemed blatantly untrustworthy. His honesty appeared nonexistent, his morality nothing but an illusion.  But it wasn’t impossible, not with the many stories of supernatural occurrences that were available. As an anthropologist, Shinguji found himself unable to fully disregard the other’s claim.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His grip on the suitcase tightened, and the darkness serving almost as a security blanket, allowing Shinguji to hide from depravity. From his actions. He couldn’t fall apart, not yet, not until she wasn’t alone. It was okay, it really was, for he could still hear Sisters soft words. As Shinguji walked down the sidewalk once again, her endearing voice comforted him-- reminding him of why his actions were necessary. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The eloquent words of his dear beloved rang clearly, for she was speaking to him. She told him of how to disregard his doubts, and to stay strong. For her. He wouldn’t falter. Angie would rest eternally at the bottom of a ditch, and it was fine. Her sacrifice was appreciated.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Death, Shinguji was used to it. Many lives had been ended via his hands, and he was beginning to feel desensitized. The feeling of frigid flesh against his own grew familiar, and the pounding of his heart became intoxicating. His acts of love were adding up.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji closed the door of his apartment behind him, removing his shoes. Not even a minute passed before a knock sounded, which was unexpected. Who would want to speak with him? Shinguji had no friends, and everyone he had ever gotten close to was dead. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon opening the door, he was met with a man several inches shorter than himself. His skin was pale, his hair a navy blue. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you Korekiyo Shinguji?” He said, voice soft.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well I’m Shuichi Saihara, a detective, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A detective? Shinguji could lie, for he believed in his actions. His intentions were nothing but pure, an act of affection. The victims were lucky, getting to be blessed with Sister’s presence. Getting to spend eternity with her.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to come in?” Shinguji didn’t falter, maintaining contact with those grey-gold irises.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saihara shook his head,” I-I’m fine, it’ll be brief.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The detective averted his gaze momentarily, meeting Shinguji’s eyes once again after a split second.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“You knew Angie Yonaga, right?” Saihara said.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“To some extent, we were neighbors, after all.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was seen entering your apartment the day of her murder. Is this true?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Shinguji said,” It wasn’t uncommon for her to gift me pieces of art.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Around what time did she leave, would you say?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few hours later.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saihara’s face hardened, eyes narrowing.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“ Detective, is something wrong?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” His tone was terse,” Thank you for your time.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you’d help, did you not?” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ouma’s appearance had surprised him, the other seemingly having materialized out of thin air. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weeellll, what do I get out of it?” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji felt his jaw clench, and he sighed softly, the sound muffled by his mask. Of course, there were strings attached. He couldn’t expect such a pathetic creature to understand his virtue. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it that you want?” Shinguji asked, his voice somewhat strained by frustration.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your firstborn child, maybe?” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji visibly cringed, for the idea of impregnating anyone besides Sister nearly made him sick. Ouma smirked.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, I guess I could settle for your soul if you’d rather.”  </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His… soul? The idea sounded drastic. He had heard such stories before, individuals who were enticed into giving up their spirit in exchange for their own selfish desires.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would that entail?” Concern slipped into his voice.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you die, you’d basically become my bitch. Forever.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would I be able to--”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“See your ‘dear sister’ again?” Ouma said, mockingly,” That could be arranged.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji hesitated, his mind traveling back to the detective, the scrutiny of his expression. Ouma extended his hand, his eyes a vibrant violet. Shinguji exhaled deeply, reaching out to meet the other’s hand. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no other way.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The wind blew, messing with Shinguji’s hair. He stood upon the roof, Ouma leaning on the railing beside him.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“She looks pretty ‘pure’, right?” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ouma was pointing towards a woman, her brunette hair tied into long twists. She wore a blue crop top and a matching skirt.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span> Shinguji was annoyed. Not only was Ouma clinging to him relentlessly, but he could do nothing about it. He had no choice but to play along with the liar’s actions. He wanted to push him off the roof, and watch as his form contorted, bones breaking. But Shinguji remained composed.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I deserve more of an answer than that,” Ouma pouted, “Maybe I’ll give that detective back the evidence I stole.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t. Demons can’t break deals.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww man, you got me.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji eyed the women on the street below them as she smiled at her shorter companion. She appeared sweet, a fitting friend for Sister.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“But even if I can’t do it now, I can still make you suffer,” His tone was bright, juxtaposing with Ouma’s true meaning,” Maybe I’ll fuck your sister in the afterlife. Who knows?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was almost as if Ouma enjoyed pissing him off. He probably did, for his words made Shinguji’s blood boil. But he wouldn’t waver, not now, he would stay strong and composed for Sister. Her happiness was all that mattered.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be quiet.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His words were simple, almost devoid of emotion. Shinguji turned around, hearing Ouma snicker behind his back. It was okay, it really was, for soon his purpose would be complete. And he would see her once again. Angie, and everyone else he had killed, would thank him. They surely would.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped down the stairs, his timing perfect. After rounding the corner at the end of the flight, Shinguji bumped someone. She fell to the ground, and he feigned surprise.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it’s a degenerate.” She spoke harshly.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Degenerate?” He furrowed his brows, extending his hand,” Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She scowled, denying his help and standing up on her own. The woman muttered something, a quiet insult, before pushing past him. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Shinguji looked after her as she walked down the sidewalk, decidedly following her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wasn't the most pleasant, but would do fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For Sister.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i really struggled writing shinguji, and i still don't feel like this is good. like at all. criticism is welcome!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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